


Pixie Wings and Other Things

by Elfy (elfowlgirl)



Category: Thrilling Intent (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-07 00:35:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10348383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfowlgirl/pseuds/Elfy
Summary: "The beginner's guide to raising, befriending, and even harvesting a pixie. Comes free with every purchase! (At participating locations only. Some restrictions apply. If condition worsens, discontinue use and consult a physician. Keep out of reach of children.)" - Pixie Wings and Other Things





	1. Chapter One: Obtaining Your Pixie

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who's helped me out with this fic so far! I hope you guys enjoy this.

_“A pixie’s wings are rare, and the creature itself rarer - since the use of the race in magic spells and as various ingredients has become popular, fey have more or less fallen off the map. Your best bet to obtain them, in any case, is a black market dealer, or someone with similar connections.” - Pixie Wings and Other Things, Chapter One: Obtaining Your Pixie_

 

__

 

With a lumbering, echoing creak, the old wooden door swung open, slamming into the dilapidated wall beside it and kicking up a heavy cloud of dust. The bright beams of sunlight that now lit all but the furthest corners of the little shop were interrupted only by the dark silhouette that now found itself standing in the doorway - a silhouette that waited only a moment for their eyes to adjust before striding in, confident as ever, to inspect the merchant’s wares.

Although “merchant” was, perhaps, too kind of a word for the man that waited, ever-smiling, for her behind the rickety wooden counter.

As it was, the store itself was more of a mess than perhaps anything she had ever seen before. One library in particular that had been both burned down and hit by a tornado in tandem had a better system of organization in the form of “burning chunks of paper and leatherback book covers scattered across the fields”, as opposed to the pandemonius pile of novella that took up most of the back corner.

The shelves that lined every wall - some so haphazardly they were at odd angles or with cracks down the center and on the verge of collapsing completely - were just as covered in assorted knick-knacks and bizarre memorabilia, as well as a layer of dust and grime much like that the open door and rush of wind from outside had disturbed.

The floorboards squeaked with warning beneath her boots at every step, the planks old and rotting. The entire building carried with it the stench of must and age, accompanied unpleasantly by something that smelled vaguely like wet fur.

In short, the entire place was a shit show, and if she had any choice at all there was no way she would’ve so much as _looked_ at the place let alone considered entering or, gods forbid, _purchasing_ something.

As it was, this was the best place to go to get what no where else offered. If you could find the damn place.

“ _So_ ,” the man behind the counter crooned as he interlocked his fingers, expression unreadable behind his multicolored mask but still disconcerting nonetheless. “How can _I_ , with all my _meager_ shop has to offer, help you today?”

She regarded him as coolly as she dared, though he seemed almost pointedly unperturbed by the air she carried about with her. “I need a pair of pixie wings.”

“ _Pixie_ wings,” he repeated almost curiously, though said no further as he pushed himself into a proper standing position and turned around before sliding into a back room.

That was a good sign. A _professional_ supplier was one who asked for no more than the most necessary of details when it came to helping their clients - everything they dealt with was black market enough as it was. They had enough secrets to keep besides anything their clients could offer them.

He emerged a moment later, grin having faded but ever so slightly. “Just as I thought,” he said, resuming his place at the counter. “I'm afraid I have some good news and some bad news.”

She cocked an eyebrow. He took that as signal to continue.

“The _bad_ news is, I’m afraid I happen to be all out of pixie wings. They're in rare supply and hot demand these days.” He adjusted his jacket, reaching one gloved hand into it. “The _good_ news is, however, I happen to have the next best thing.” He drew an object out and placed it on the table for his client to inspect.

Inspect it she did - it was, at first glance, a simple glass jar, the lid of which had been covered in some sort of thin, white material and holes poked through. It was the _contents_ of the jar, though, that were the truly interesting part.

Namely because, sitting inside the jar, was a tiny little pixie. They must've been six inches tall at her best guess.

The client raised her eyebrows as she looked at it, at first wondering if the thing was dead with how still they were before noticing the gentlest rise and fall of their chest.

“A live one?” she asked.

The merchant nodded. “Much rarer and _much_ more expensive than just a pair of wings, but if you’re _that_ desperate, she’s what I can offer you.”

At a second glance, she could see a thin wall of magic - an enchantment, most likely - encompassing the inside of the jar. It couldn’t be a sleep spell, as the majority of fey and a surprising amount of magical creatures were immune to them, but she did have a few suspicions.

_It’s oddly tempting. I can just open the jar and clip the poor thing’s wings right off and that’s that. What to do with her after that, well, I’m sure I can figure something out._

“How much?”

He told her. She remained fairly unfazed.

_More than I was willing to spend on just the wings, but… I don’t really have a choice here. There’s nowhere else for at least a hundred miles to get the damn things and this place was hard enough to find to begin with. I’m not leaving empty handed. At the least I’ll be getting my money’s worth._

She counted out the gold and slid them into a pouch before gently placing it on the table. The merchant reached out one hand and pulled it into his jacket, no doubt placing it in the same spot the pixie’s jar had once occupied. “Do you intend to care for her?”

She looked up at him, giving him a long stare, but it seemed too earnest of a question to be prying. It wasn’t incriminating to own a magical creature - _intent_ with a purchase could lead to more sales, upon other things. “Yes.”

He nodded, and reached back into his jacket before placing something else onto the table, beside the jar. “For your troubles. She's been with me a couple weeks and _everyone_ else has turned her down. Consider it a thank you gift.”

She picked it up. It was a thin book, little bigger than her hand, with a simple phrase engraved on the cover: _Pixie Wings and Other Things._ She idly flipped through it.

_“The beginner’s basic guide to pixies”. Good, because I don’t actually know how to take care of a fey._

The client nodded to him by way of thanks, a gesture he returned. She picked up the jar, sliding it into her bag before turning and leaving the same way she’d come. As light flooded the shop again, something about the air seemed different - carrying a different sort of weight to it. Then the door slammed shut and the woman was gone.

“I have a feeling,” the merchant said as he leaned back against the counter, “that I’ll be seeing her again.”

He turned and strode back into the back room, letting the door drift shut as he resumed taking inventory. He was almost surprised the pixie had sold at all, considering how notoriously difficult a creature they were to handle. Perhaps the woman would learn. He wished her the best of luck.

\---

Inien sat in the grass, jar clutched in both of her gloved hands, and continued to study it. The spell that had been placed on the jar was pretty ingenious, really - it seemed like a less powerful, localized variant of _Time Stop_ , powered down enough that the pixie was held in a dream-like state, with her heartbeat no doubt slowed to near nothing. On top of it, it was enough that the spell could sustain itself without the power source a regular _Time Stop_ would require to last for such a period of time. All it took to break the spell was to remove the lid that was, even with the breathing holes in it, effectively “sealing” the jar.

The first thing she did was prepare a spell in case the thing tried to attack her or just straight-up flee once she released. She’d skimmed through the book the merchant had given her a couple times and had found out exactly all she needed to know: pixies were volatile, pesky little creatures that could cause a lot of headache, though if you earned their trust - not an easy thing to do - they could be valuable allies.

Now it was only a question of what this one would be like.

She didn’t give herself a chance to doubt. The witch placed one hand on the edge of the jar and the other on the lid, tearing through the string that held it there and peeling it away. The spell’s thin layer of light vanished and, with it, the pixie’s eyes slowly flickered open.

As soon as the pixie took in the world around her, she leapt a couple inches into the air, slamming into the back of the jar in an effort to put what space she could manage between herself and Inien. Her eyes were wide, glimmering a brilliant gold, giving Inien a good look at her for the first time. Thin, purplish lines ran from her eyes down her cheeks, peeked out from underneath her belted tunic, and wrapped twice around her arms just where her sleeves ended. Her long, wispy-white hair was tied into a ponytail and draped over her shoulder, though judging from the disheveled state of it, she had seen better days.

“Who are you?” she demanded in surprisingly fluent Free, sounding more angry than scared despite how she seemed to be shaking just a little. “What do you want with me?”

Inien was uncertain how to respond, glancing briefly to the pair of scissors that rested in the grass beside her. The pixie follow her gaze, frown deepening. After a moment, she closed her eyes and sharply turned her head away.

“If you want my wings, all you have to do is ask.”

The witch paused, then raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Do you think I’d still be sitting here if I could just fly away? Or that I would’ve been caught so easily?” Her wings began to flutter, then buzz, moving as quickly as a bee’s though she still just stood there. “See? No _magic_ means no _flying_.”

Some part of Inien felt that this was going to be some kind of trickster fey reverse psychology. Another part felt sort of bad - or even pitying - about trying to take the pixie’s wings considering how angry the pixie seemed to be about it. The rest of her wondered if the spell would still work _without_ the pixie’s magic in her wings.

“Are you sure?”

“That’s what you bought me for, isn’t it?” The pixie collapsed in a huff to the bottom of the jar, crossing her legs and looking even more annoyed. “They’ve been nothing but a pain. I can’t even fly, and they remind me of that every day. I’m sick of them.”

“You can’t _fly?_ ” That was something new. A wingless pixie, sure, it’d make sense for them to be grounded but one who still had wings and couldn’t fly even _then_?

The pixie started, suddenly realizing what she had said, and averted her gaze. “It doesn’t matter. Take them. I don’t care.”

Inien slowly picked up the jar, tilting it slightly sideways until the pixie came spilling out and onto the grass.

“Before I go through with this, I’ll finish answering your questions from earlier.” She picked up the scissors. “My name is Inien.”

The pixie eyed her suspiciously, then rolled her eyes. “Fine. My name is Aesling, but you can call me Ashe.”

“You seem rather reluctant to tell me your name.”

“Of course I am!” Ashe frowned at her. “But where I’m from, if someone offers their name, you offer yours. It’s common courtesy.”

“The fey are a superstitious bunch, or so I’ve heard.”

Ashe’s expression went from a frown to a pout. “Just because _you_ don’t believe us doesn’t mean we’re not right. Names have power.”

“And just because _you_ believe them doesn’t mean they are.” Inien held up the scissors. “Are you sure about this?”

“Y-yeah. Just fucking get it over with.”

There was a gentle sound - a _snicker-snack_ \- as the scissors sliced cleanly through the membrane attaching the wings to Ashe’s back. The pixie froze, tense, for but a moment before relaxing considerably as they fell to the grass.

“Well, that’s one way to make a statement,” she said, peering over her shoulder. “It’s like a weight has been lifted. Almost literally.”

Inien picked up the wings, carefully, between two gloved fingers and slid them into her pack. “That was a lot easier than I expected.”

Ashe continued looking over her shoulder at the fresh wounds, at the blood pooling where her wings had once been. The witch almost offered her a cloth to use as a bandage - it surely must have hurt, considering how the pixie had flinched and tried to hide it - but before she could, Ashe crossed her arms across her chest and placed a hand just over each shoulder. Vibrant green sparks began to dance at her fingertips, leaping from them and running through the wounds half a dozen times each before they seemed to almost close, now healed, of their own accord.

Ashe took a couple deep breaths, then relaxed again.

“Can’t do magic, huh,” Inien mumbled under her breath. If Ashe heard her, she didn’t reply.

“So now what?” She looked to the witch. “Are you going to get rid of me or what?”

“What would make you think that?”

“You wanted my wings, right? That’s why you bought me from… Whoever you bought me from. I don’t remember much, but I remember a jar and a shop.”

“That’s true.” Inien sat back in the grass, leaning back on her hands and looking for a long moment at the pixie. “But I paid a _lot_ more for you than your wings are worth alone.”

“What, you want me to stick around so you can get your _money’s worth?_ ”

Inien shrugged. “I don’t think a flightless pixie can do that well out on her own. Do you even know where you are?”

Ashe opened her mouth, then paused. “Uh… What was the name of that country. Alaran?”

“Not even close. We’re in Kuravia - basically the other side of the Free Isles.”

“ _What?!_ ” The pixie looked incredulous. “Damn the gods, I didn’t realize I’d been taken that far. I was looking for someplace to hide out, maybe even figure out how to get a job or something, and then my memory gets fuzzy.”

“Where are you from, then, originally?” Inien sounded genuinely curious.

“There’s this shitty little island in the middle of nowhere…” She trailed off. “I miss the _place_. The people not so much.”

“That healing, not-magic thing you did - can you do it to others?”

Ashe blinked a couple times, almost surprised by the sudden change in topic. “Y-yeah, I guess. It takes a lot out of me, though.” Her brows furrowed, seeming suddenly skeptical. “Why, are you gonna try to sell me again? Raise the price even without my wings?”

“No, actually.” Inien looked at her. “I was going to propose an arrangement.”

“An _arrangement_."

“Yes.” The witch clapped her gloved hands together and smiled wide. It did not reassure the pixie in any way. “You come along with me and help me out on the ‘not dying’ part of my work. In return, I’ll make sure you don’t get eaten by a stray owl or snake or something that happens to mistake you for a mouse. Or a necromancer wanting a new toy to experiment with - we _are_ in Kuravia, after all.” 

“You wouldn’t.”

Inien narrowed her eyes, grin failing to fade. “ _Try me._ ”

She paused, looking away and seemingly considering the idea. “Alright,” she huffed after a moment. “I keep you alive, you keep me alive.”

Inien offered her a gloved hand. Ashe, somewhat confused, mimicked the motion. With two fingers, the witch shook the pixie’s hand.

Ashe pulled away and looked at her hand. “You humans are so strange.”

“It’s how people make deals in most places - especially Alaran. I spent some time in Alaran.”

The pixie’s eyes lit up. “Have you done a lot of travelling?”

Inien nodded, making to stand. “I’ve even gone outside the Free Isles.”

For the first time, Ashe expressed something other that fear, sadness, or irritation - she practically _beamed._ “You have to tell me all about it! I’ve always wanted to go out and see the world.”

“The world’s a big place,” the witch said, and then smirked. “Especially for someone like you.”

Ashe frowned. “Yeah, yeah, I can fit in your hand or whatever. If you want me to come with you, though, you’re going to have to carry me somehow. I can’t exactly walk alongside you.”

Inien rolled her amber eyes. She knelt down, holding out her gloved hand - her fingers gently locked around Ashe, pulling her swiftly from the ground and, after a moment’s consideration, deposited the pixie onto her shoulder.

“Give me a little warning next time!” Ashe clung to the fabric of Inien’s hood as she struggled to maintain her balance. “You keep me alive, remember? If I fall and die it’s on your head!”

“It’ll be on the ground, more like. The fall’s only four or so feet,” Inien said as she began to walk. As her new companion took her first couple steps, Ashe carefully sat, bare legs bumping against the rough fabric of Inien’s cape. “What’s it like to be so small, anyway?”

Ashe looked up at the witch, and then smirked. “I dunno, what’s it like to be so _tall?_ Not as easy a question to answer, huh?”

Inien snorted. “I don’t think _anyone_ has ever called _me_ tall.”

The pixie blinked a couple times. “You’re not tall? You’ve like ten times my height!”

“And by human standards, that’s pretty short.”

“There are humans who are _taller?_ ” Ashe’s eyes widened. “Oh gosh.”

“Why _Aesling_ ,” Inien said with a smirk, “am I the first human you’ve ever met?”

“Um,” Ashe said. “Yes?”

Inien laughed. Ashe glared.

“I thought you’d all have fangs or something, like the bedtime stories. Or claws. You just look like bigger fey without wings. Unless you do have fangs and I’m missing something.”

“No, humans do not have fangs.” The witch kept smiling, then thought for a moment. “Well, some Kuravians might. I wouldn’t put it past them, at any rate. Maybe not some of the ones so close to the border, but further inland, probably.”

“The border? The border of what?”

“To the south is a country called Onorhant, which is where I’ve been staying with my guild. I came up north to Kuravia to gather ingredients for some of their research.”

“Is that what you needed my wings for?”

“Yep. There was only one store I thought I had a chance at finding some, and the price is no big deal considering they’re all paying me back - with interest - for some of this stuff.” She closed her eyes and smiled. “So while I don’t particularly like Kuravia, I came out on top. I even found a healer.”

“Are healers rare?”

“I forget the exact statistic, but I believe one in ten are capable of casting even the most basic of healing spells.” She furrowed her brow. “I can’t remember if that’s people in general or just mages, though. Mages themselves are pretty rare to begin with.”

“Oh.” Ashe seemed to consider this. “What about pixies?”

“I’d say about ninety-five percent of people in the Free Isles think they’re just a myth.” Inien carefully stepped under a particularly low branch. A couple of stray leaves almost whacked Ashe in the face. “And maybe ninety-nine percent have never seen one. Pixies are extremely hard to come by, and are very good at keeping away from humans. That’s part of why their wings are so valuable.”

“We try,” Ashe said, sitting up just a bit straighter and seeming proud. “So… where exactly are we going, anyway?”

“I arranged to meet with a friend of mine at a town by the border so I could give him the supplies I picked up. He’ll let me know if there’s any more guild work to do.”

“You have a _friend?_ ”

Inien glared. “Yes. Why?”

“You don’t exactly seem like the friendliest of humans.”

“There are some people who would call everyone they ever met a friend. I think he’s one of those kinds of people.”

“We’re going into town, right? We should figure out where to put me if this place is dangerous. Maybe under your hat.”

Inien considered it. “It’s a good hiding spot,” she agreed. “Especially while we’re in Kuravia. The rest of the world can be hit-or-miss, more or less.”

“While we’re in… I mean, considering I’m basically stuck with you now, you should tell me more about yourself.”

“‘ _Stuck with me’?_ ” Inien pointedly raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who agreed to my terms.”

“Yes, because I’d rather not die!”

“Even if you _could_ fly, around here? It’s much safer to go in pairs. Kuravia is not a nice place.”

Ashe huffed and crossed her arms. “Just put me under your hat already. I’ll nap for a bit. It’s been a long day for me.”

“You were in suspended animation for a while. I’m surprised you’re still tired.”

“I don’t even know how _long_ I was in that jar for. Let me have this.”

Wordlessly, Inien reached up and lifted her hat, ushering the pixie inside.

“Can you hear me from here?” Ashe asked.

“Loud and clear. Take your nap now, it won’t be a terribly long trip,” she said.

“Where are we going?”

Inien smiled and, even with her new companion even being unable to see her, smile cryptically. “Oh, around,” she replied.

Despite herself, Ashe found herself grinning, too.


	2. Chapter Two: Pixies and You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you only wish to know about the obtaining of pixie wings, and the difficulties that lie therein, you can stop reading. Put the book down and walk away. Should you have found a pixie in your life, however - be it friendship, rivalry, or something else entirely - then read on. And be prepared for all the complications that come with it.” - Pixie Wings and Other Things, Chapter Two: Pixies and You

In actuality, it took almost two hours for Inien to reach the tiny Kuravian town of Deathblossom - partly because she’d had to take a manageable detour around a group of surreptitious-looking ne’er-do-wells, and partly because the bridge that normally would’ve led into the town had been blocked with rubble from a recent storm, brought in by the plague winds. Some of her own minor magic had cleared that up, though it served to remind her exactly  _ how _ isolationist some Kuravian towns tended to be; the last storm had been almost a week ago.

Her hat marked her as a mage, and that was enough for most of the populace to leave her alone, despite the bright colors of her clothes. A majority of the town wore dark colors and near-rags, the buildings torn and battered. Magic, as common as it was within Kuravia, was clearly a rare commodity here. Even just her, a simple witch, was enough to keep the villagers at bay.

_ He  _ wasn’t terribly hard to find, either, in similarly bright clothes and much more color in his cheeks. That was another thing about Kuravians - Inien almost wondered if they favored necromancy so much because of how close they almost seemed to be to death themselves.

He was waiting outside the single, dingy little tavern the town had to offer. The sign swinging in the nonexistent wind above him said “Death’s Doorstep” - an oddly fitting and therefore common name within the country. He seemed content to people watch, single eye following someone until they went out of view before darting to the next. It took tapping him on the shoulder for him to even notice she was there.

“Oh, hello!” He said with a smile, brushing some of his long, brown hair out of his face. “Nice to see you again, Inien.”

“And you, Colvin,” she gave him a curt nod. “Long time no see.”

Colvin moved towards the door of the tavern and pulled it open, holding it for the witch as she entered before moving in himself. “Yep. It’s been pretty boring lately, so at least now I have something to do.”

“You’re the only one I know who volunteers for courier duty, Colvin,” Inien said with a sigh as she collapsed into a chair. At the motion, she felt the pixie under her hat stir. Colvin sat down at the chair across the table from her.

“I’m best suited for it!” He straightened up, seeming proud. “Plus, I needed to meet up with you anyway.”

“New book?”

Colvin nodded with a wide smile. “Twice as long as my last one.”

He placed a pile of parchments down, bound in twine and clearly having seen better days. Inien sighed again, leaning against the table and idly flipping through the first couple pages. “You’re lucky I like you.”

He continued smiling. Inien was unperturbed.

“So, what did you need delivered this time?”

“Same stuff as usual.  _ Someone _ decided to send  _ me _ of all people to get supplies from Kuravia. Mostly because apparently no one  _ else _ wanted to do it.”

“That seems to be the case a lot,” Colvin remarked, and Inien frowned. “Let’s see what you have.”

Ashe was definitely awake, now. Inien felt the pixie move from a lying position to a sitting one, no doubt listening intently to their conversation. Ashe would likely find it far from thrilling.

The witch reached into her bag and removed a smaller pack that had been placed within. The outside of it was a cushiony leather, worn slightly but well-made enough to withstand almost any battery that might assail it. She placed the pack on the table and undid the latch, revealing a plethora of vials within, each of them held carefully in place by small straps.

One-by-one she removed them, laying them beside the pack on the tabletop. Each vial was labelled and its contents obscured by a thin layer - thinner, even, than that which had been placed on Ashe’s bottle - of magic, keeping them perfectly preserved. The very last, while labelled, was translucent and empty. Inien reached into her bag and pulled out the pair of pixie wings, which had been placed in a tiny sack just large enough to hold them. She removed them, then placed them in a vial like the rest before corking it shut and placing it alongside the others.

“Very nice,” Colvin remarked, and Inien found herself agreeing, nodding her head absentmindedly. “Congratulations on finding some of this stuff. Like this, fermented owlbear gizzard? Or those wings. It couldn’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t.”

“But the usual deal makes it worth it?”

“Of course.” Inien leaned back in her chair a little and distinctly wished that the alcohol in Kuravia was palatable. As it stood, their drinks tended to be about twenty-five percent plague, seventy-five percent the other stuff. Impressive as she was - and with various protection spells up specifically to combat the time she spent in the accursed country - she still didn’t dare take the chance when it came to their food.  _ Regular  _ disease was a given when you came to Kuravia and inevitably faced the torrential forces of the plague winds;  _ gastrointestinal  _ disease, however, was no laughing matter.

Colvin could, in many cases, simply be considered a force of natural by his physical strength alone - a strength that commonly went unchecked, even with the heavy metal shackles bound at his ankles and wrists. Yet as he placed each vial back into the pack he did so with an unusually practiced care, gently turning each of them to assure they were properly labelled and not even leaving a scratch as the snaps wrapped snuggly back around them.

There were many things with which Inien the witch did not agree with him on - the legibility of his books, for instance - but she would be quick to establish that his joining the Runecarvers’ Guild had done him good. It had done him very good.

Her hat shifted on her head of its own accord as Colvin slid the pack closed, then began to fiddle with the latch. She tapped the side of it as if to remind its occupant to stay hidden. If Colvin noticed the motion, he didn’t say anything. Likely he hadn’t, too focused on the careful reassembly of the container, before he picked it up with the same gentleness and slid it into the recesses of his jacket.

“You doing that makes this feel suspiciously Alarani,” Inien remarked.

“Speaking of Alaran…” Colvin began. The witch groaned. “There’s a job for you there.”

“Really?  _ Again? _ What do they want this time?”

He shrugged. “You’re just supposed to meet someone in Trust. It’s time-sensitive, though, so if you’re not there in a week’s time they’re going to pass it off to someone else.”

Inien groaned again, her chair tilting so far back it was no doubt an inch or two from falling over. “You’re lucky I’m not rushing out the door right now. That affords me barely any flexibility if I don’t leave by tonight.”

“Well, you’ve got that spell of yours…”

“I know. I’m accommodating for it already.” She sighed and the chair tilted back onto four legs. “I’m tempted just to not take it.”

“Hey, it’s either that or hanging around here, which you tend to hate. And we both know you like Alaran.”

“That’s true.” She placed her head in her hand, and the sudden movement almost knocked the pixie in her hat over. Inien bit back a laugh when she felt Ashe kick at her hair. “So, what’s new with you, Colvin?”

“I haven’t actually been spending much time in Xinkala lately,” he said. “But I heard the clans are returning from the Great Expedition within the next couple months.”

“Took them long enough.”

“I’ve even made a couple friends.”

She raised her eyebrows at the comment. “In  _ Onorhant? _ ”

“No,” he said. “Actually here, in Kuravia.”

Inien resisted the urge to pull a face.

“They’re part of a coven.”

“At least  _ that _ I can approve of,” she said with a roll of her amber eyes. “Is that all you’re going to tell me?”

“For the time being, probably.”

After a moment, she nodded. “Alright. I’ll trust your judgement on this front.”

He beamed. “Really?”

“Yes. But if they end up being total fuckups like the  _ last _ time, then you owe me.”

Colvin sighed, but kept smiling. “When do I not?”

She grinned back. “Exactly. Glad to see we’re on the same page as always, Colvin.”

He opened his mouth as if to reply with something, only to close it a second later.

“Anyway,” Inien placed both hands against the tabletop, glad she was wearing gloves as a thin layer of dust and grime stuck to them. She stood up. “Nice to see you again, Colvin. Maybe I’ll see you when I get back and I can  _ actually _ hear about those friends of yours.”

“Of course.”

The witch made to leave, only to remember the tattered manuscript still sitting on the table. She picked it up, looked at the front page again, then rolled her eyes and slid it into her bag. It was much heavier than the vials had been.

With that, she waved and strode from the bar, pushing the creaky wooden door back open and stepping back out into the village.

“That was shorter than I expected,” Ashe said from under her hat. “But you move around a  _ lot _ when you talk.”

“Enjoy our conversation?”

The sun was just beginning to set. She’d have to go through the night to make it to the nearest port, and it’d have to be a Kuravian one. With Xinkala’s placement as it was and the once-shifting landscapes of Onorhant, it was hard to find terribly many seaworthy villages - especially one so close to the border. There was no way she could make it all the way south to Xinkala  _ and  _ still have time to get to Alaran, let alone to Trust.

“It didn’t exactly tell me much. You two seemed pretty secretive,” Ashe remarked.

“There are a hundred and one reasons to be,” Inien replied. The pixie went quiet as she considered the witch’s words.

Inien began her walk. She went down the path that led out of town, and over the bridge that had once been blocked by debris; she continued through the woods, following the trail the setting sun carved in the sky ahead through the endless clouds. Even when only the thinnest trickle of starlight could be seen she kept walking, a lantern in her gloved hand that had been lit by magic - usually she could sustain a light by her own power, but here it never hurt to conserve what she had.

The light seemed to only extend a good ten feet or so, the rest of the world around her nothing but pitch black darkness.  _ It’s only three or four hours by foot to get to the port, _ she figured.  _ If a ship isn’t leaving then, at least they’ll be leaving at dawn. _

_ Sounds _ came from the woods. Monstrous, beastial, otherworldly sounds that came from everywhere at once and yet never seemed to draw any closer or move any farther. At the very first, she felt Ashe stiffen.

“What was  _ that? _ ” the pixie hissed.

“Any manner of things,” Inien replied, keeping her gaze ahead. “Monsters. Mages. Illusions.”

“Spirits?”

“No. If there are any spiritfolk in Kuravia, they’re going to stay far away from anyone -  _ especially  _ mages.”

“Spiritfolk?” Ashe seemed almost marginally confused by the term, but continued anyway. “What about ghosts?”

The witch scoffed. “Ghosts don’t exist.”

“If you say so.”

Stray shards of moonlight were peaking through the clouds overhead by the time the duo arrived at the port town - not that she knew the name of the town. The sign out front was missing all but three letters: “B M X”, the rest too far worn to tell what it once might’ve said. 

Inien gave the sign a disgusted look as she continued on the path. Lanterns were lit outside houses and light shone from the docks, where boats were no doubt waiting in port for the morning light. If there was anywhere she could find a captain to take her to Alaran, it was in the local tavern.

_ Because I haven’t had enough of taverns today. _

“I’m going into another tavern,” she told the pixie. “After that we’ll either be on a boat or I’ll get us a room and you can come out.”

“And have something to eat?”

“What do pixies even eat?”

“Vegetables, mostly, or whatever we can hunt.” Ashe paused. “Why, what do humans eat?”

“About the same.” She adjusted her hat, knowingly, and made her way towards the rickety old building.

It was, to be fair, in better shape than the one in Deathblossom, which wasn’t saying much - the wood was of varying quality and color in half a dozen different spots, having clearly been rebuilt at least as many times. Even with the lanterns outside the door, the darkness was too thick to reveal the building’s name. The tavern itself was the only place in the town with lanterns on inside, the inhabitants of “B M X” either fast asleep or drinking their sorrows away within.

Inien shoved the door open and, much like every other door in Kuravia, it creaked ominously as it swung on its hinges, revealing the interior of the tavern.

Sure enough, lanterns lit every corner, as if to scare away any shred of darkness that might creep in through the windows. The inside, too, was made of wood, stained and burned and old and cracked and yet somehow in better shape than the outside had been. People in various degrees of ruggedness sat in almost every seat, drinks in front of them, completely uncaring as they talked and drank merrily.

Inien carried with her knowledge and experience. It was easy to pinpoint the captains of the crews drinking there - three, by her count. One standing on the bar and looking stereotypical, with hat and jacket and long, black beard. His cheeks were red and his eyes half-lidded as though he were going to collapse any moment.

_ A lightweight, then. _

Inien ruled him out.

Next was a younger woman with dark hair, eyes, and skin, sitting beside the first captain at the bar and watching him with a wide grin of amusement. A brightly colored bird sat on her shoulder, occasionally snapping up crumbs left on the bar counter. She adjusted her bandana and took another swig of her drink. Inien instantly liked the look of her.

The last captain was in the lone dark corner, where the light of the lanterns didn’t quite reach and the air was no doubt eerily chill. Though he, too, had a drink in hand, he seemed to forgo it for the maps and papers scattered across him, fiddling with instruments and ignoring the joy all around him.  _ A stick in the mud, though he likely knows what he’s doing. _

She gave the room another good look around, before settling on the woman.

The witch’s hat moved ever so slightly, tilting just far back enough that she could tell Ashe was taking in the tavern much as she had. “The guy in the corner,” the pixie said. “He’s the best here by far.”

“How can you tell?” Inien was careful to keep her voice low, even as the patrons didn’t seem to notice her.

“Fey can only fly so far. Where I’m from, if you go any further than your village you’re going by ship. I could barely see his charts, but he was using the instruments like he had all his life, so I’ll wager they were right.”

“I like the look of the woman more.”

“What, you don’t trust me?” A pause, and then: “Wait, how do you know  _ she’s _ a captain?”

“I’ve been doing this a long time, Ashe. I’ve met plenty of captains, and I know which ones are trustworthy.”

“Alright. But I told you so.”

“You told me so,” Inien conceded, and walked over to the woman.

“Hey, lass,” the captain said as she approached, grinning a gap-toothed grin and leaning back on her stool as she looked the witch up and down. “What can I do fer ya?”

“I need a ship.”

“Straight n’ to the point, I see.” The captain took another swig of her drink. “Cap’n Pierra of  _ The Sesquipedalian _ , at yer service. Where ya heading to?”

Inien was fairly impressed she could pronounce her own ship’s name so clearly. “Alaran. Trust, more specifically, but anywhere this side of the country will do.”

Pierra nodded, and considered it. “We don’t got anywhere to be for a good couple weeks. Can take the job, but it’ll cost ya. It’s a far fling to Alaran.”

“I’d hardly expect to travel for free. Board and food included?” She reached a hand into her bag.

“O’ course.”

A sack of coins, expertly calculated, hit the bar counter with a loud jingle. The captain lifted it and weighed it in her hand, then nodded. “Alright. Meet us at Pier 18 at dawn.”

“Pier  _ 18? _ ” The town barely seemed large enough to support two piers, let alone eighteen.

“Yeah. It’s the only one in town.”

Inien furrowed her brow. “Of… course it is.” It was still a few hours til dawn. It would do both of them good to get a couple hours of sleep. “Could I head down there now and get a room to sleep? If I’m paying you that much…”

“Rather than sleep in this shithole? Sure, why not. Jus’ tell… I think Califrey’s on duty. Jus’ tell ‘em I sent ya and ‘ll set ya up with a place to lay yer head.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Inien bowed her head and stepped away, ducking out of the place and back into the cold night air. “Well, that went well.”

“How much did you pay her?”

“Less than I expected her to charge,” she said. “And maybe some haggling, but we’ll probably end up in a closet or something. I’ve slept worse places.”

“You only get what you pay for,” Ashe scolded, but Inien simply waved her off.

“It’s fine. The worst happens and what, I’m out a couple thousand gold? I take a risk on every job - that’s just how this works. Even if I miss the job in Trust there’ll probably be  _ some _ poor sap looking for an under-the-table mage.”

“If you say so.”

True to the captain’s word, there was a single pier at the edge of town, with the writing “PI R 18” painted on a sign stuck in the ground beside it. Two-thirds of it were one shade of wood and the rest much lighter, having clearly been a more recent expansion at some point in the past few years. Three ships were docked, two barely fitting on either side and one waiting at the very end.

The one on the left was almost certainly a pirate ship, judging by the state of it. Much like everything else, it had likely seen much better days, even its name on the side worn with age: “ _ The Haggard Wake” _ . The ship certainly needed one.

The one on the right was in pristine condition, almost as if it had never seen a single day at sea. It bobbed unevenly in the water, and there was something about it Inien didn’t quite like, but she couldn’t deny its craftsmanship. It was named “ _ From Fortune”. _

The final ship on the pier was almost exactly like every other ship Inien had ever seen. Worn through love and care, well-maintained but not overdone. “ _ The Sesquipedalian _ ” would have been impressive if it wasn’t such a common-looking thing, but to her, that was reassuring - she had sailed a dozen ships just like it, and this journey would no doubt go as smoothly as all the others.

Sitting just beside the gangplank was a young kid, hair a scruffy, dirty brown and clothes much the same. They shot to their feet as she approached, immediately seeming wary and hand hovering by their belt, ready to grab a weapon - likely a knife - at a moment’s notice.

“Can I help you?” They said when she didn’t offer even a hello.

“You’re Califrey, right? Captain Pierra sent me. I’m sailing with you at dawn and she said you’d show me a place to sleep till then.”

Before they could think to respond, a single golden coin came flying out of Inien’s bag, twirling twice in the air before landing perfectly in the kid’s hand. They smiled wide.

“Of course,” Califrey said, posture relaxing considerably. “Follow me, miss.”

They grabbed the lantern that had been resting beside their chair, then turned and dutifully trudged up the wobbling wooden gangplank, Inien following shortly behind them.

They headed across the deck, Califrey pulling the door open for the witch before they began to descend below deck. “Two meals a day,” they explained. “Usual times, ‘cause it looks like you’ve been aboard a ship afore.”

Inien nodded knowingly.

“Ya ain’t got the biggest room, but I don’t think y’were expecting much. Just got some new crew, though, so there’s a couple extra rooms available fer once. You’re lucky.” They lead Inien down a thin hallway, stopping at a door by the end. “A couple of the newcomers always drink too much and sleep in past sunrise, especially if we’re just pickin’ up and leavin’ all of a sudden like this. Here ya are.”

Califrey shoved the door open. As Inien stepped inside, the kid opened the lantern hanging by the door and then their own, using a match out of their pocket to light it. The beginning of the new flame lit the room, darkness giving way to a space small enough that it only held a single cot. Part of the room on the other side of the hall cut into it, giving it a sloped enough ceiling that it felt even more cramped.

“See y’around, miss.” Califrey nodded politely and stepped out, disappearing back down the hall.

Inien collapsed into the cot, dropping her bag to the floor beside it. “You’re in the clear,” she mumbled, and a moment later the pixie popped out from beneath her hat.

“Good. After a while it feels cramped in there. I need to stretch my…” Ashe paused. “What do people stretch other than wings? Legs? Legs.”

“Six days or so at sea. You’ll have plenty of time to stretch your legs in here.” The witch yawned, and reached into her bag, pulling out of her now-clean kerchief and handing it to Ashe. “I’ll have to figure out a way to get you food from the mess. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” For lack of a better place to sleep, Ashe dropped down to the floorboards and meandered over to the witch’s bag, wrapping herself up in a kerchief she took from within it like a blanket and using the bag like a pillow.

In no time at all, the both of them were asleep - so far into sleep, in fact, from their long day that they missed the ship taking off, consciousness only returning by the time the last view of land was already on the verge of fading from sight.

\---

She was flying.

Beneath her, grass and trees and everything else became one, a shapeless blur of green and brown and black as the evening’s shadows began to stretch across the island. In the distance, the dying sunlight danced on the water, a distant reminder of the endless barrier that surrounded her home.

It didn’t matter. If she couldn’t go  _ out, _ she’d go  _ up. _

There was only a brief moment of chill as she passed through a cloud, water coating her and her wings only to fall away in a miniature shower as she spun through the air. Even as cold as it was at such a height, adrenaline and endorphins kept her more than warm. Even if she could see to the horizon, could see exactly how small her home was - even with how small  _ she _ was - in that moment it seemed endless. She felt invincible. The sun on her skin was warm, and the wind sang a song just for her.

All at once there was the sharp  _ crack _ of thunder, the pleasantness that had been there but a moment before replaced by the cold, torrential rain of a storm. The sun disappeared behind an endless sea of grey clouds, and the ground beneath her was lost to darkness.

The breeze, once so sweet and gentle, took her in its grip and began to all but throw her around. She struggled to flap her wings, to orient herself.

An unnatural chill ran through her. Colder than even the freezing cold rain, it moved from her eyes and down her cheeks like tears, around her arms and up her wings. Just as quickly she was no longer flying - her happiness faded, her fear faded, and soon she was numb but for the realization that she was falling. Falling, falling, falling, into and from nothingness…

With a jolt, Ashe’s eyes flew open. She stared up at the wooden ceiling of her and Inien’s small cabin, blinking a few times before giving in and rubbing the back of her hand at the tears threatening to spill over.

Her chest ached and she wasn’t sure why, but her throat was tight, too, and her breath came as fast as her heartbeat. Her wrist shifted, and slowly her fingers trailed down her cheek, tracing the bindings she knew were there.

Her back hurt, and when she sat up, there was a bit of blood on Inien’s bag.

_ My wings - where they were - didn’t heal yet. I figured I’d have longer. _

Her hands moved to her shoulders, and the dim light of the cabin was overtaken by brilliant green sparks as the pixie’s wound reclosed.  
  
If only it were so easy to do with injuries that weren’t real.


End file.
